Post by Oath Breaker on Sept 16, 2016 3:31:27 GMT -5
The conversation was over, but the question remained within Tommy's head. It bore mercilessly into him without remorse, and the more he thought on it, the more it confused him.
He had taken the exit as instructed, started following the signs, but it didn't take long for the signs to disappear. Soon, he found himself, and his Pontiac Chieftain, mixed up with the local street racers. Some were laughing at the Chieftain, while others were looking at easy money. He pulled up next to a Honda Civic RT, cranked the window down as to ask directions to the gym. However, the thought process never got that far.
Racer: Costs 3 large to race holmes .. but if ya ain’t got the cash .. I'll put my cash up against your ride.
And the over enthusiastic adrenaline junkie kicks into place.
Tommy: Yer on L-ose-a-herr!
The Civic RT 4 wheel drive had been pumped up to about 400 horses, and Tommy could hear the power as the little 4 cylinder revved up. This gearhead wanted some bragging rights, but the RT, even with all the horsepower it had been pumped up with, wasn't geared to use the power in the top end. Tommy knew this well, he had driven the RT, and 120 was the pushing limit for one overloaded. Bad gear ratios.
The racer explained that the finish line was 3/4 mile down the road. And Tommy knew the only way that RT would have a chance, was on the 1/8th mile.
Hand on the shifter, waiting for the signal to go, when he finaly at this point pays attention to the detailed smoked chrome eagle’s head that is the shifter handle itself. He heard the screeching of tires which brought his attention back up, and the RT was 3 car lengths ahead.
Dump the clutch and the Chieftain jolts forward. The engine rev up nicely as he slips it on into 2nd gear. The RT was now holding its lead, but the 383 was beginning to wind up.
*click click*
3rd gear, and the Chieftain launched forward. All or broke, as Tommy mashed his foot down on the accelerator. The advantage quickly disappeared, and Tommy could hear the NOS come to life on the RT. It was enough to keep the nose of the RT in front, but the 383 V8 E Tec started to unwind. The speedometer buried past 140, the tach was pegged at 7500 rpm, and the rattling of abused lifters echoed throughout the Chieftain. It was do or die, and the RT was slipping back.
*click click*
4th gear and the Chieftain launched forward. The Chieftain had the lead, the nos ran out for the RT, and the lead was getting longer by the second. Tommy crossed the line first, and the RT about a half a second behind. Both cars come to a stop, and Tommy extends his hand out the window.
Tommy: Pay up SUCKERRRRRR!
The man behind the wheel of the RT walks around, shoving a fistful of cash into Tommy's hand.
Racer: No way .. aint no way that 350 coulda accelerated like that.
Tommy: Read my lips mo-fo .. three .. eight .. three .. E Tec.
The reality hits the racer as the surrounding racers rib him for his failed calculation AND his loss.
Tommy looks around, seeing the training gym itself to his left, the very place he was looking for. And off to his right was a 24 hour speed shop. With a grin he pulls into the speed shop where a mechanic walked up.
Mechanic: What can I do ya for?
Tommy: Need heads that can handle higher revs, tri cut the valves, ditch the steel springs in place of titanium, and drop in a ceramic clutch .. the kind they use for wreckers and such.
The mechanic hits up the parts on the computer, adds in the labor costs, and promptly comes back just as Tommy is crawling out of the Chieftain.
Mechanic: It'll run ya around 2200 bucks, but I can get a matching intake for the heads and have that installed as well for another 1600. Edelbrock E-tec 200 series. Add in about 70 horses and roughly 90 pounds of torque.
Tommy forked over 3800: Do it!
Mechanic: Hey .. aren't you that one wrestler from .. WCF?
Tommy: Yup .. just one of many.
Mechanic: Man, that tag match with ZT is gonna be off the hook.
Tommy: Gonna be fun and all. Um .. how long until I can get my car back?
Mechanic: We can have it done in 10 hours.
-----------------------------------
The edelbrock heads was only the first of many modifications done to the Chieftain. With the completion of each race, the money gained was invested right back into the vehicle. The hurst shifter, 17" polished aluminum rims, corvette ram style exhaust manifolds, a dual crossflow catback 2 7/8" exhaust, AEM brakes and brake control upsized to fit the new rims, Hi-tech Jacobs electronics spark control system with dash mounted adjustability between cruising and racing performances, and all the chrome trimming got replaced with triple plated chrome. Fuel and brake lines are solid stainless tubing, and every part specifically chosen to keep the 'stock' sound of the automobile under normal driving conditions.
It was a street performer, that still had the basic appearance and sound of the factory. The rims and brakes being the only visual modification. The chroming itself was all stock fitting to keep the stock shape, and helped give the white Chieftain a nice extra sparkle when it rolled up.
It had enough sparkle to avoid being laughed at when he pulled up to a car club now, and for the changes happened with only a day and a half removed, this car ran nothing like it was intended. The next steps would include suspension modifications, and Tommy found himself already addicted to making vast improvements upon the Chieftain. Experienced racers could tell the car wasn't stock when he gave the engine a light rev, and these men typically avoided being baited into any wagers.
Tommy wasn't racing broken down Civic Wagons from the 80's anymore, he was racing against some nicely tuned Evo 9's and 10’s, Subaru WRX's, and something that for some odd reason seems popular in this area, a lot of Dodge Neons. The man accepting his challenge this time though, wanted a full mile straightaway, and was running the S2000 Sport Turbo. The man insisted on no NOS, which didn't bother Tommy one bit, since he had no NOS to begin with. And insisted on no bets under 5 large.
Others laughed at the man, those that had the money knew what his car was capable of. This guy wasn't a casual racer, this guy was making his livelihood from it. A few comments caught his ear on how the man has over 100 large under the hood alone. It didn't take Tommy long to figure out that this guy was running upwards of 210 mph on the one mile stretch. The Chieftain would never stand a chance, especially with only the 4 speed transmission and the old school ultra heavy cast iron crankshaft. The engine could handle 7200 rpm without issues now, but he would need to make 10,000 rpm if he wanted to stand a chance against the S2000 Sport. At this point, the ONLY chance Tommy would have, is if the guy blew his engine straight off the starting line, and with 100 large under the hood, it wasn't likely.
The thought occurred to Tommy, that if he could beat this guy in the one mile straightaway, then he and Cap WCF could beat Salem and Cash in the ring. So without hesitation, he accepted the man's challenge and held up 5 thousand dollars.
The other racers went straight into effect making the mile long raceway, white lines were drawn out on the asphalt, and Tommy found himself wishing he had a digital speedometer. Waiting for the nod from each racer, and each man gives the signal. The flagger drops her hands, and both men give a perfect launch from the starting line. The S2000 pulled away from the Chieftain like it was standing still.
2nd gear and the S2000 kept pulling away, 3rd gear and the S2000 had a 5 car advantage. Tommy brought the revolutions up and jammed it into 4th gear. His foot glued to the floor as the Chieftain kept climbing in speed. A few moments later and Tommy could see smoke from the S2000 Sport, and he kept his foot glued to the floor, kept his fingers like iron grips on the steering wheel, as the tach climbed from 4,000 up to 7500 rpm.
The smoke was getting heavy from the S2000 as it suddenly seemed to lose speed. The 383 climbing past the redline to 8000 rpm. The Chieftain seemed to pass the S2000 at the finish line itself.
The finish line came equipped with a laser triggered digital camera on each side, and 5 minutes later, after hooking the cameras into the laptops .. the winner was finally declared. The Chieftain had claimed the win by less than two inches. It was the closest race anybody had ever witnessed in these areas, and the man handed over the 5 large to Tommy.
The acrid smelling smoke was still escaping from under the hood of the S2000. A fuel regulator gasket went out and fuel had covered the top of the engine and caught fire. The man had manually cut the fuel to his engine to save as much of his investment as he could. The gasoline was already burned out, but the wiring was still aflame. A gasket set and a wiring loom would have that man back in the race. There was very little damage to any mechanical part of the engine. But the man made the voluntary choice to lose 5 large instead of his 100 large engine.
It was a wise decision, which reflected Tommy back onto his own scene. Was it wise to win over a man you respect and could call friend? Was it worth risking a possible friendship for a simple win inside the ring? And at this point, Tommy finally understood why his former trainer, Freezer Burn Wayne Hammon, had done what he did when he taped all of those training lectures. Had Freeze actually intended for me to to go back to those old tapes? Had the plan all along been to ready his replacement in pro wrestling? And was Freeze planning to come back to take care of other unfinished business like Oblivion, Archer, or Vengeance?
One question answered, so many more appear.
------------------------------
At the training gym, Tommy grabbed the duffel from the back seat when a movement from within made his hand pause. Had somebody slipped a snake into my bag? So Tommy slowly went to the zipper, being ready for anything, including striking at the yet unseen menace. Slowly the bag unzipped and Tommy moved his hands back, pondering his next move and taking a moment to breathe.
He no longer than took two slow breaths when an orange and blonde kitten head popped up through the unzipped bag. “Mew.”
Tommy: Are you kidding me?
Tommy hoisted up the kitten, relieved it was nothing fatal and stroked one of his large fingers behind the kitten’s ear. The little ball of fur leaned into his finger, eyes partly closed as it begins to purr at the much needed attention.
Tommy: Just couldn’t stay behind, could ya?
He placed the kitten upon his shoulder, grabbed his bag, and headed inside the gym. Once inside, the smell of musty air hit him like unwashed socks in the nasal cavity. It was the smell of old sweat and no air conditioning. It was the smell of hard work and discipline. The perfect place to be.
With no Cap in site, Tommy went to the vending area and procured a bottle of Muscle Milk for the kitten. Being in that bag all driven to hell and bounced around for the past couple days had to have made for a hungry kitten. Another refrigerated vending machine had small meals for the power lifter in mind, which included individually sealed pieces of raw fish. He got a halibut slice, broke it in half, and took half for himself and set the other half on the floor for the kitten.
Sushi and Muscle milk for a young kitten. At this rate the thing will grow up to be Arnold SchwartzeKitty and look more like a jungle cat than a house pet. The kittens mewing soon to be replaced by “Meow this meowther Fucker!’
Tommy: Alright, we gotta make a rule here cat. No more sneaking into my bag. I’ll just bring you into the car and we can travel together. Just don’t get under my feet while I’m driving. Hmmm.. S’pose giving you a name might be a good idea too.
The kitten paid him no mind as it hungrily ate at the chunk of halibut. Tommy didn’t bother thinking of a name just yet, he had other business to attend. He made his way around to the office area and turned the computer on. If this was the right place, then the password Freeze gave him should activate some online videos he could go through.
The computer whirred to slow life and Tommy entered his passcode when prompted. The old com slowed as it began going through tons of files until popping up a file simply labeled as ‘Took you long enough, Asshole!’ Tommy raised an eyebrow at this but clicked the folder anyway which brought up a whole selection of folders with names including “Baiting Techniques’, “Basics of Submissions’, ‘The Fundamentals of Chain Wrestling’ but Tommy passed all of those on by to his destination folders ‘Tagging with a New Tag Partner’ and ‘Basics of Tag Teams’.
The videos within were online links, and one by one, Tommy went through them. He often went through the videos more than once, just to be sure he didn’t miss anything. Hours went by, and the patterns between the two folders slowly emerged. The way they linked together gave Tommy the idea to open a third and fourth folders, ‘Ring Control in Tag Matches’ and ‘How to get the advantage when a Tag Team has you Scouted and it doesn’t look good’.
Tommy wondered if Freeze had ever heard of shortening it up, but it’s blatant and to the point in the way that spoke exactly like Freezer Burn. Tommy then noticed another folder down in the corner set away from the rest with the title ‘When you know you’re FUCKED!’ Yeah, Freeze typed the way he talked.
Tommy took a quick break from the screen. He took a leak, poured more of the Muscle Milk in a small cup for the kitten, grabbed another chunk of halibut and again shared it with the kitten before going back into the office. He walked in and found one Captain WCF standing there beside the computer.
Tommy: Huh? Didn’t hear you come in.
Cap: We got work to do. Let’s go. We gotta beat that Johnny Cash an Salems Lot guys this Slam.
Always eager to get his hands dirty. Tommy thought for a moment about the music reference to Cash. Old music. Good music. Just another one of the things Tommy liked about The Cap.
Tommy: Alright. Got some vids pre loaded. Make yourself very familiar with them. I’ll head into the gym central where the ring is. Gonna look at the ring and put into mind the things I learned so far. Lots of videos I haven’t seen yet, so don’t get ahead of me. We’re in this together, man.
Perhaps Cap already knew how rough the spot is they are in. Perhaps he picked up something in Tommy’s somber voice. Cap just nods and takes a seat at the computer. Tommy turns to go toward the ring when Cap stops him short.
Cap: Dis? Dis is Fweezah Burn! Mean, mean mean nasty old man. Not a nice guy. Why you lookin at vids of nasty old bastard?
Cap was excited, and not in his usual chipper way. This was the kind of excited that comes when someone has the slight edge of fear and a healthy dose of respect.
Tommy: What gives Cap? Spill the beans.
Cap: We fight in ring. He beat me. Bad nuff for me to learn martial arts. No let anyone beat me dat bad again. I get skill and have many good match. But that man no beat me to get a win. He evil. Call hisself the villain to my being hero. Nasty old man. Tough wrestler. Old school me, so I go to school not to be schooled again ‘cept when I go to school to be schooled to learn more from a school not his or anyone else.
Tommy:(nodding) Yeah, he’s a nasty old bastard. A true son of a bitch and then some. But, .. he is also the man that trained me to be a pro wrestler. And this is his gym. He’s schooling you once again. Well .. schooling us again.
Cap thought on this. Whatever his thoughts are his own at this point as Tommy makes his way on into the gym to check the ring. The cues in the vids for disecting the ring, the different ways to cut the ring in half and make it your own, for controlling the tag team by dividing them in the same way the ring is divided. One man controls the legal half. The other runs interferance on the illegal half.
Thoughts and plans start coming to mind. Cutting the ring. Separating Salem and Cash. Playing the scene. Quick tags. Using their own scouting techniques against them.
Control it. Command it. Dig in deep as sin. And maybe, just maybe be enough to survive Slam AND retain the titles.
A couple hours of videos. One blonde cat. And four days to hit the ring and work on synching up with the cap, working the rhythm and flow of each other. Back to basics. There itself is the key. Back to basics.
A long shot, just like the race with the S2000. But possible.
(Note: Too tired tonight, will color code later)
He had taken the exit as instructed, started following the signs, but it didn't take long for the signs to disappear. Soon, he found himself, and his Pontiac Chieftain, mixed up with the local street racers. Some were laughing at the Chieftain, while others were looking at easy money. He pulled up next to a Honda Civic RT, cranked the window down as to ask directions to the gym. However, the thought process never got that far.
Racer: Costs 3 large to race holmes .. but if ya ain’t got the cash .. I'll put my cash up against your ride.
And the over enthusiastic adrenaline junkie kicks into place.
Tommy: Yer on L-ose-a-herr!
The Civic RT 4 wheel drive had been pumped up to about 400 horses, and Tommy could hear the power as the little 4 cylinder revved up. This gearhead wanted some bragging rights, but the RT, even with all the horsepower it had been pumped up with, wasn't geared to use the power in the top end. Tommy knew this well, he had driven the RT, and 120 was the pushing limit for one overloaded. Bad gear ratios.
The racer explained that the finish line was 3/4 mile down the road. And Tommy knew the only way that RT would have a chance, was on the 1/8th mile.
Hand on the shifter, waiting for the signal to go, when he finaly at this point pays attention to the detailed smoked chrome eagle’s head that is the shifter handle itself. He heard the screeching of tires which brought his attention back up, and the RT was 3 car lengths ahead.
Dump the clutch and the Chieftain jolts forward. The engine rev up nicely as he slips it on into 2nd gear. The RT was now holding its lead, but the 383 was beginning to wind up.
*click click*
3rd gear, and the Chieftain launched forward. All or broke, as Tommy mashed his foot down on the accelerator. The advantage quickly disappeared, and Tommy could hear the NOS come to life on the RT. It was enough to keep the nose of the RT in front, but the 383 V8 E Tec started to unwind. The speedometer buried past 140, the tach was pegged at 7500 rpm, and the rattling of abused lifters echoed throughout the Chieftain. It was do or die, and the RT was slipping back.
*click click*
4th gear and the Chieftain launched forward. The Chieftain had the lead, the nos ran out for the RT, and the lead was getting longer by the second. Tommy crossed the line first, and the RT about a half a second behind. Both cars come to a stop, and Tommy extends his hand out the window.
Tommy: Pay up SUCKERRRRRR!
The man behind the wheel of the RT walks around, shoving a fistful of cash into Tommy's hand.
Racer: No way .. aint no way that 350 coulda accelerated like that.
Tommy: Read my lips mo-fo .. three .. eight .. three .. E Tec.
The reality hits the racer as the surrounding racers rib him for his failed calculation AND his loss.
Tommy looks around, seeing the training gym itself to his left, the very place he was looking for. And off to his right was a 24 hour speed shop. With a grin he pulls into the speed shop where a mechanic walked up.
Mechanic: What can I do ya for?
Tommy: Need heads that can handle higher revs, tri cut the valves, ditch the steel springs in place of titanium, and drop in a ceramic clutch .. the kind they use for wreckers and such.
The mechanic hits up the parts on the computer, adds in the labor costs, and promptly comes back just as Tommy is crawling out of the Chieftain.
Mechanic: It'll run ya around 2200 bucks, but I can get a matching intake for the heads and have that installed as well for another 1600. Edelbrock E-tec 200 series. Add in about 70 horses and roughly 90 pounds of torque.
Tommy forked over 3800: Do it!
Mechanic: Hey .. aren't you that one wrestler from .. WCF?
Tommy: Yup .. just one of many.
Mechanic: Man, that tag match with ZT is gonna be off the hook.
Tommy: Gonna be fun and all. Um .. how long until I can get my car back?
Mechanic: We can have it done in 10 hours.
-----------------------------------
The edelbrock heads was only the first of many modifications done to the Chieftain. With the completion of each race, the money gained was invested right back into the vehicle. The hurst shifter, 17" polished aluminum rims, corvette ram style exhaust manifolds, a dual crossflow catback 2 7/8" exhaust, AEM brakes and brake control upsized to fit the new rims, Hi-tech Jacobs electronics spark control system with dash mounted adjustability between cruising and racing performances, and all the chrome trimming got replaced with triple plated chrome. Fuel and brake lines are solid stainless tubing, and every part specifically chosen to keep the 'stock' sound of the automobile under normal driving conditions.
It was a street performer, that still had the basic appearance and sound of the factory. The rims and brakes being the only visual modification. The chroming itself was all stock fitting to keep the stock shape, and helped give the white Chieftain a nice extra sparkle when it rolled up.
It had enough sparkle to avoid being laughed at when he pulled up to a car club now, and for the changes happened with only a day and a half removed, this car ran nothing like it was intended. The next steps would include suspension modifications, and Tommy found himself already addicted to making vast improvements upon the Chieftain. Experienced racers could tell the car wasn't stock when he gave the engine a light rev, and these men typically avoided being baited into any wagers.
Tommy wasn't racing broken down Civic Wagons from the 80's anymore, he was racing against some nicely tuned Evo 9's and 10’s, Subaru WRX's, and something that for some odd reason seems popular in this area, a lot of Dodge Neons. The man accepting his challenge this time though, wanted a full mile straightaway, and was running the S2000 Sport Turbo. The man insisted on no NOS, which didn't bother Tommy one bit, since he had no NOS to begin with. And insisted on no bets under 5 large.
Others laughed at the man, those that had the money knew what his car was capable of. This guy wasn't a casual racer, this guy was making his livelihood from it. A few comments caught his ear on how the man has over 100 large under the hood alone. It didn't take Tommy long to figure out that this guy was running upwards of 210 mph on the one mile stretch. The Chieftain would never stand a chance, especially with only the 4 speed transmission and the old school ultra heavy cast iron crankshaft. The engine could handle 7200 rpm without issues now, but he would need to make 10,000 rpm if he wanted to stand a chance against the S2000 Sport. At this point, the ONLY chance Tommy would have, is if the guy blew his engine straight off the starting line, and with 100 large under the hood, it wasn't likely.
The thought occurred to Tommy, that if he could beat this guy in the one mile straightaway, then he and Cap WCF could beat Salem and Cash in the ring. So without hesitation, he accepted the man's challenge and held up 5 thousand dollars.
The other racers went straight into effect making the mile long raceway, white lines were drawn out on the asphalt, and Tommy found himself wishing he had a digital speedometer. Waiting for the nod from each racer, and each man gives the signal. The flagger drops her hands, and both men give a perfect launch from the starting line. The S2000 pulled away from the Chieftain like it was standing still.
2nd gear and the S2000 kept pulling away, 3rd gear and the S2000 had a 5 car advantage. Tommy brought the revolutions up and jammed it into 4th gear. His foot glued to the floor as the Chieftain kept climbing in speed. A few moments later and Tommy could see smoke from the S2000 Sport, and he kept his foot glued to the floor, kept his fingers like iron grips on the steering wheel, as the tach climbed from 4,000 up to 7500 rpm.
The smoke was getting heavy from the S2000 as it suddenly seemed to lose speed. The 383 climbing past the redline to 8000 rpm. The Chieftain seemed to pass the S2000 at the finish line itself.
The finish line came equipped with a laser triggered digital camera on each side, and 5 minutes later, after hooking the cameras into the laptops .. the winner was finally declared. The Chieftain had claimed the win by less than two inches. It was the closest race anybody had ever witnessed in these areas, and the man handed over the 5 large to Tommy.
The acrid smelling smoke was still escaping from under the hood of the S2000. A fuel regulator gasket went out and fuel had covered the top of the engine and caught fire. The man had manually cut the fuel to his engine to save as much of his investment as he could. The gasoline was already burned out, but the wiring was still aflame. A gasket set and a wiring loom would have that man back in the race. There was very little damage to any mechanical part of the engine. But the man made the voluntary choice to lose 5 large instead of his 100 large engine.
It was a wise decision, which reflected Tommy back onto his own scene. Was it wise to win over a man you respect and could call friend? Was it worth risking a possible friendship for a simple win inside the ring? And at this point, Tommy finally understood why his former trainer, Freezer Burn Wayne Hammon, had done what he did when he taped all of those training lectures. Had Freeze actually intended for me to to go back to those old tapes? Had the plan all along been to ready his replacement in pro wrestling? And was Freeze planning to come back to take care of other unfinished business like Oblivion, Archer, or Vengeance?
One question answered, so many more appear.
------------------------------
At the training gym, Tommy grabbed the duffel from the back seat when a movement from within made his hand pause. Had somebody slipped a snake into my bag? So Tommy slowly went to the zipper, being ready for anything, including striking at the yet unseen menace. Slowly the bag unzipped and Tommy moved his hands back, pondering his next move and taking a moment to breathe.
He no longer than took two slow breaths when an orange and blonde kitten head popped up through the unzipped bag. “Mew.”
Tommy: Are you kidding me?
Tommy hoisted up the kitten, relieved it was nothing fatal and stroked one of his large fingers behind the kitten’s ear. The little ball of fur leaned into his finger, eyes partly closed as it begins to purr at the much needed attention.
Tommy: Just couldn’t stay behind, could ya?
He placed the kitten upon his shoulder, grabbed his bag, and headed inside the gym. Once inside, the smell of musty air hit him like unwashed socks in the nasal cavity. It was the smell of old sweat and no air conditioning. It was the smell of hard work and discipline. The perfect place to be.
With no Cap in site, Tommy went to the vending area and procured a bottle of Muscle Milk for the kitten. Being in that bag all driven to hell and bounced around for the past couple days had to have made for a hungry kitten. Another refrigerated vending machine had small meals for the power lifter in mind, which included individually sealed pieces of raw fish. He got a halibut slice, broke it in half, and took half for himself and set the other half on the floor for the kitten.
Sushi and Muscle milk for a young kitten. At this rate the thing will grow up to be Arnold SchwartzeKitty and look more like a jungle cat than a house pet. The kittens mewing soon to be replaced by “Meow this meowther Fucker!’
Tommy: Alright, we gotta make a rule here cat. No more sneaking into my bag. I’ll just bring you into the car and we can travel together. Just don’t get under my feet while I’m driving. Hmmm.. S’pose giving you a name might be a good idea too.
The kitten paid him no mind as it hungrily ate at the chunk of halibut. Tommy didn’t bother thinking of a name just yet, he had other business to attend. He made his way around to the office area and turned the computer on. If this was the right place, then the password Freeze gave him should activate some online videos he could go through.
The computer whirred to slow life and Tommy entered his passcode when prompted. The old com slowed as it began going through tons of files until popping up a file simply labeled as ‘Took you long enough, Asshole!’ Tommy raised an eyebrow at this but clicked the folder anyway which brought up a whole selection of folders with names including “Baiting Techniques’, “Basics of Submissions’, ‘The Fundamentals of Chain Wrestling’ but Tommy passed all of those on by to his destination folders ‘Tagging with a New Tag Partner’ and ‘Basics of Tag Teams’.
The videos within were online links, and one by one, Tommy went through them. He often went through the videos more than once, just to be sure he didn’t miss anything. Hours went by, and the patterns between the two folders slowly emerged. The way they linked together gave Tommy the idea to open a third and fourth folders, ‘Ring Control in Tag Matches’ and ‘How to get the advantage when a Tag Team has you Scouted and it doesn’t look good’.
Tommy wondered if Freeze had ever heard of shortening it up, but it’s blatant and to the point in the way that spoke exactly like Freezer Burn. Tommy then noticed another folder down in the corner set away from the rest with the title ‘When you know you’re FUCKED!’ Yeah, Freeze typed the way he talked.
Tommy took a quick break from the screen. He took a leak, poured more of the Muscle Milk in a small cup for the kitten, grabbed another chunk of halibut and again shared it with the kitten before going back into the office. He walked in and found one Captain WCF standing there beside the computer.
Tommy: Huh? Didn’t hear you come in.
Cap: We got work to do. Let’s go. We gotta beat that Johnny Cash an Salems Lot guys this Slam.
Always eager to get his hands dirty. Tommy thought for a moment about the music reference to Cash. Old music. Good music. Just another one of the things Tommy liked about The Cap.
Tommy: Alright. Got some vids pre loaded. Make yourself very familiar with them. I’ll head into the gym central where the ring is. Gonna look at the ring and put into mind the things I learned so far. Lots of videos I haven’t seen yet, so don’t get ahead of me. We’re in this together, man.
Perhaps Cap already knew how rough the spot is they are in. Perhaps he picked up something in Tommy’s somber voice. Cap just nods and takes a seat at the computer. Tommy turns to go toward the ring when Cap stops him short.
Cap: Dis? Dis is Fweezah Burn! Mean, mean mean nasty old man. Not a nice guy. Why you lookin at vids of nasty old bastard?
Cap was excited, and not in his usual chipper way. This was the kind of excited that comes when someone has the slight edge of fear and a healthy dose of respect.
Tommy: What gives Cap? Spill the beans.
Cap: We fight in ring. He beat me. Bad nuff for me to learn martial arts. No let anyone beat me dat bad again. I get skill and have many good match. But that man no beat me to get a win. He evil. Call hisself the villain to my being hero. Nasty old man. Tough wrestler. Old school me, so I go to school not to be schooled again ‘cept when I go to school to be schooled to learn more from a school not his or anyone else.
Tommy:(nodding) Yeah, he’s a nasty old bastard. A true son of a bitch and then some. But, .. he is also the man that trained me to be a pro wrestler. And this is his gym. He’s schooling you once again. Well .. schooling us again.
Cap thought on this. Whatever his thoughts are his own at this point as Tommy makes his way on into the gym to check the ring. The cues in the vids for disecting the ring, the different ways to cut the ring in half and make it your own, for controlling the tag team by dividing them in the same way the ring is divided. One man controls the legal half. The other runs interferance on the illegal half.
Thoughts and plans start coming to mind. Cutting the ring. Separating Salem and Cash. Playing the scene. Quick tags. Using their own scouting techniques against them.
Control it. Command it. Dig in deep as sin. And maybe, just maybe be enough to survive Slam AND retain the titles.
A couple hours of videos. One blonde cat. And four days to hit the ring and work on synching up with the cap, working the rhythm and flow of each other. Back to basics. There itself is the key. Back to basics.
A long shot, just like the race with the S2000. But possible.
(Note: Too tired tonight, will color code later)
